the king in the forest
by crowind
Summary: Konoha's Forest of Death turns out to be very, very alive. 1) Temari's no good, horrible, very bad day. 2) Tsunade's off day.
1. the forest

_Note: And now, for a little crack fic. Inspired by elenathehun._

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The forest bristled as Gaara's sand coffin wrung blood out of the Ame-nin. Temari was not a superstitious person – living with a literal monster tended to disabuse one of the inclination – but she began to suspect the forest was alive. More than impossibly enormous wildlife – who nonetheless made themselves scarce in Gaara's presence – the forest was alive. More and more she came to believe it was displeased with Gaara, especially.

She distracted herself by searching for the Ame-nin's scroll. It was their objective, anyway. Temari fished the bloody scroll, miraculously intact in the midst of an entrails soup. Occasionally, the monster was her little brother. "Hey, Gaara, this is the scroll we need. Let's just go straight to the tower now, okay?"

As always, Temari's words were little more than dandelion's whispers to Gaara. He walked without a care – toward the tower at least. Minutes passed with nothing happening. Temari was starting to feel embarrassed. Like hell Temari of the Desert was afraid of Konoha's wimpy biome! Then the forest shook, but it was with a loud noise immediately recognisable as human battle. She swallowed a groan. Gaara was excited, of course. He ran, as much as Gaara ever ran ahead, and Temari and Kankurou could only exchange askance glances before hurrying after him. Sanctioned killing or not, the plan did not call for Gaara's monstrosity to stand out this early.

Then it seemed as though a volcano of corrosive chakra had erupted from where Gaara had disappeared into. Temari hesitated before dashing in anyway, Kankurou only half a step behind. Gaara was… half way into becoming less Gaara, facing off a familiar boy, also half way into becoming less of a boy. Red, corrosive chakra tail lashed between the sandstorm as the Konoha boy somehow slipped past Gaara's sand. She could tell Gaara – no, the damn demonic tanuki was getting frustrated. Temari swore. She knew the plan was too volatile, anything involving Gaara was volatile, and she and Kankurou would always be the first to die.

Amidst the chaos, the forest truly came to live. Trees like tentacles shot from every direction, wrapping themselves around the duelling monsters, stopping stray sand blocks from hitting Kankurou. A voice boomed from everywhere at once, and nowhere of earth. "Children! Please stop fighting."

A giant tree sprouted, separating Gaara and the Konoha boy. The tree shrunk to man-size, and shrunk again, folding into itself until it was man-shaped. Features sculpted and melted until wood became flesh – became recognisable flesh. A man wearing a familiar face beamed at the children. He spoke in a human voice, still booming, but at least no longer echoing from hell. "I'm sure this can be settled peacefully."

With a numb jolt Temari realised she was looking at the flesh and blood likeness of one of the faces on Konoha's vanity gallery. He was about to say something, but all pretensions of warmth was suddenly gone from his face. "Excuse me," he muttered, and vanished into the ground. Was swallowed by the earth. Not too distantly, a repugnant aura flared, followed by what seemed to be a riot of the trees in the area, and the forest in general shook with fury. She felt rather than heard the First Hokage's booming voice. "I don't know who you are, but you will cease threatening this pure Uchiha boy!"

Kankurou had a puppy look on him, one she hadn't seen in a long time since Yashamaru's death, and Temari and Kankurou realised they were all the other had – and they were their brother's keepers. Said brother was currently sleeping. Whatever was in the trees kept the demon subdued. For the first time in uncountable years Gaara was sleeping. He looked at peace. Temari didn't have the heart to wake him, and bring the demon infested brother to the fore. Yet the cat was out of the bag, and it wouldn't take long for Konoha to suspect Suna of treachery. Temari and Kankurou would need Gaara to have any chance at surviving.

Temari shook her head, and gestured at Gaara. Resigned, but not surprised, Kankurou whispered, "So how're we gonna – "

The First Hokage came back then, followed by the Uchiha brat and his gaudy teammate. The girl gasped at the tableau, but the First Hokage immediately addressed Temari. He seemed to have a better handle of human acceptable volume this time. Gesturing at Gaara, he said, "Do you know this boy?"

Temari nodded. "My brother." She didn't know why she had volunteered the information, except she knew they would all die today, one way or another.

Kankurou, too, piped up, "And I'm their brother." Temari wanted to kill him for that. But the First Hokage's expression softened. He said, "Then please come with me. I can help you."


	2. the road

It made sense more than it should have that the next time Tsunade saw Jiraiya again, it was in a brothel. She was there because her purse had dipped to the point where her medical skills needed to pay their rent; he was there because he was Jiraiya. His eyes lit up when he saw her, exclaiming, "Tsunade! I've been looking for you!"

Tsunade bristled at the implication – doubly so that he had indeed found her in a brothel. "What do you want?"

Jiraiya peered around, as though only just now remembering he was shinobi with secrets in store. He said, "Not here."

"I'm not going anywhere with you, either. Idiot."

"That's all right," Jiraiya said distractedly, apparently having found what he'd been looking for. "Let's go to that nice garden over there."

Tsunade felt her knuckles itching for a taste of Jiraiya's jaw. _Brilliant! Let's move to where even more oiran and patrons could listen in._ She was too sober for this. But she was tired, and Jiraiya was unusually not distracted by the sights around him. Jiraiya skipped past the bridge and the "mountain", and straight into the "forest" at the back. He then knelt by an empty patch, planting what looked like a ginkgo seed.

Then he turned to her and said, "Ssh, I promise it'd be worth your while," even though Tsunade hadn't said anything.

Seconds lapsed, and still nothing. Tsunade clucked her tongue, snapping, "Look, if that's all – "

She never finished her sentence. A tree sprung into being from the seed Jiraiya had planted. In no time it achieved the height of a man, twisting all the while, twisting and fusing until branches became a pair of arms, the roots solidified into legs, and the canopy –

"Tsunade, darling, is that you?"

She didn't give him more chance than that. The crude (and eerily lifelike) effigy of her grandfather burst into splinters under her fist, and riding on the same wave of rage, she turned on to Jiraiya. "Give me a good reason," Tsunade hissed through her teeth.

Jiraiya held his hands in a futile gesture of innocence. "Lord First wanted to speak to you in person. We agreed it would be best if he were to explain it himself, but – "

Tsunade didn't let Jiraiya finish his excuse either. She walked away still craving for a good fight – and a pub's worth of alcohol. The nerve of Leaf! The entire time she cursed Sarutobi, and Jiraiya, and Orochimaru's little experiment, now grown up into a wholesome manipulator. _Shinobi!_

The inn she and Shizune had been staying in also served passable brews, and owing to her unconcealed ire, and the new heft in her purse, Tsunade managed to secure a jar for herself. She was contemplating taking it into her room, when a very familiar and unwanted voice called for her name.

She seriously contemplated smashing the jar over her grandfather's impostor, but instead she said, "What was your last word to me?"

"Ah, I promised that I would sleep but a while…"

Tsunade felt a chill ran down her spine. Despite all common sense, she turned to face him. He really did look like her grandfather as she last saw him: the streak of white hair precisely where a direct light would shine off it, the crow's feet of a life spent smiling. But there was sorrow in his eyes that was too alive to be a replica.

When he spoke his voice was full of regret. Senju Hashirama had few regrets – few that he would express to his toddler granddaughter, anyway. "It was only a couple of days ago to me. I'm sorry, my dear. I had not meant to cause you fright… and grief. Such grief my passing had caused to the village, I am given to understand."

"It's more than that," Tsunade said in a hollow voice, somehow convinced it was her grandfather in truth. The village was never far from Senju Hashirama's thoughts. She shook her head. "Not here. Let's go to my room."

But in her room the silence was too deafening, especially with her grandfather being so quiet. They stood in awkward silence, either too large for the small, cheap room. Tsunade opened her drink and took a few swigs. She offered it to Grandpa quietly, but he demurred. "I'm afraid this body will not know what to do with alcohol, and I did not have the foresight to gift more than the one seed to Jiraiya."

"Let's start there," Tsunade said. "You _disappeared_ , Grandpa. I woke up to a _tree_. Please don't tell me…"

Grandpa smiled sheepishly. "My power would seem to have come at a price for myself. But it is I, Tsunade, just a little more… dendritic. And confined to the village without the kind assistance of nice people such as Jiraiya to carry my seed and plant it near a suitable tree."

 _Bullshit_ , Tsunade thought. Except hadn't she desperately wanted that to be true as a young girl? That her grandfather was only sleeping, as a tree if need be, and any day now he would return. She took another drink, noting that something like concern flitted through his expression as she did so. Brashly, she said, "All right, let's say that's true. You really are my grandfather, come back to life after all these years… what do you want?"

Grandpa's smile faded. "I see… Saru was right, you are an adult now… and you have tasted much of life's bitterness."

Did Grandpa always use to talk out of a poetry book, or was the tree thing to blame for that one, too? "Sarutobi told you that as well. To better drag me home, I'll bet."

He nodded, taking this in stride. "It is my dearest wish, and Sarutobi's, and your poor loyal friend's – and ultimately, it is the best course of action for you."

"But not the village?" Tsunade said wryly.

"Our village has always shone the brightest when its people are fulfilled to their utmost." This time he did hesitate, but only for a blink. "Tsunade, I am sorry for your brother. I would have dearly loved to be able to see my grandson, but alas…"

He sighed, weary and old, an old man out of his time. "Come, Tsunade. Let us go home."

"No."

Grandpa didn't seem the least bit surprised. "You have not thought about this," he said kindly, as to an unruly child.

Tsunade slammed the jar on the table and looked him in the eye. For the first time since she met him, her head was clear. She calmly said, "I have thought of this. Don't you think I've had enough time? The village has thrived without me, and now that you're back they don't need me, a deserter. I can no longer fight, Grandpa."

The grandfather of her childhood was never angry. The one facing her wasn't, either. He just held her gaze calmly, as still as a tree in dead wind. Yet the air cooled with his disappointment. He'd never raised his voice, but the First Hokage's displeasure was ever a far more compelling yoke. "My dear, are you certain?"

"Why, Grandpa, will you deal with me as you dealt with Uchiha Madara?"

The tree went still again. It was easier to ignore Grandpa's charm, then; when alive, Senju Hashirama was only still while he was sleeping. Tsunade sighed, and said, "I'm happy to see you again, Grandpa. But I have lived all my life without you… and I haven't been a shinobi for a long time. However, I will say this: though our paths have diverged, I would never turn against Leaf. You have my word."

Tsunade wrenched herself away from the standoff. Her steps were slow, but firm. She was not running away, she really wasn't. And still Grandpa didn't move. Her jaw ached with the effort to not look back, but at the last moment, as it often did, her temperance failed her. There he still stood, head bowed as though wilting. She clenched her fist and left, never looking back.

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 _Happy birthday, elenathehun. You might even get a conclusion to this piece at some point. Once again a huge thank you to roadkill2580 for beta-reading._


End file.
